Every Time It Rains (Uncharted Secrets, Book 3): Endless Horizon Pirate Stories

by Cristi Taijeron

  Growing tired, I lay back down in my bed. While looking around my room—decorated with stars and moons—I thought about how different Mother was when it was just me and her together. Around the servants she was quiet. When Father was near she was cold and unresponsive. But when it was just me and her, we would whisper and giggle, and she would say the funniest things. But the way she came to life when she told me those bedtime stories was the greatest time of all. Not only did I love the stories themselves, but I adored the way her eyes lit up when she told them. Her expressions were so vibrant and the details were so realistic, I often wondered if she hadn’t lived that life herself. For in my mind, Midnight looked just like her.

  Not wanting to ever lose this special time with her, I would never tell my father about the adventures of Mason and Midnight, for as my mother always told me, the best kept secrets are ones left uncharted.

  Chapter 2

  Sunlight through the Sails

  Walking alongside my father, my attention was drawn in so many directions that I kept falling behind. I loved the feel of the wooden dock creaking beneath my feet, and the sound of the gentle wake splashing against the hulls of the ships soothed my soul like a lullaby. But above, ah, that was where the most distracting visuals were. The masts were tall and stout. The sails were rolled up tightly, begging to be released in the breeze. And the lines! Oh, there were so many lines. And each one had a name, as did every sail.

  The world-traveling sailors aboard these floating kingdoms had names for every part of their ships. And as they scurried around from bow to stern—scaling the shrouds and hopping across the yards—they shouted out commands in a language all their own. Though I had yet to leave London, I’d spent all my years here at these docks and had become rather knowledgeable in the culture of the sea. I was certain I knew enough to become a sailor myself one day.

  Walking past a ship named Talon, I looked up to the yards. Sunlight shone between the lines, illuminating a loose piece of canvas like a lantern. Blocking the ray of light with my hat brim, I continued to view the marvelous scene. Catching sight of a shirtless young man—only a few years older than I—sitting on one of the yards, I watched to see what he was doing. Way up there, high above the small buildings lining the harbor walk, he seemed to be drawing something on a piece of parchment. His light brown hair was tied back in a braid, his skin was golden tan from the sun, and his focus was so intent on his work he seemed much older than he appeared.

  Wanting more than anything to know what he was drawing, I stared like a dumbstruck dolt as he worked. All too soon, he rolled up the parchment, stashed all his supplies in his duffle, and swung down on a line so swiftly I was sure he’d done it a million times. To my disappointment, the young man disappeared down the gangway, but I remained in my trance, eyeing the other men onboard. They sang as they worked, and I wanted to learn the words of their song. Just as soon as I caught on and began humming along with their tune, my father called for me. “Come along, Remington. It does me no good to have you here if you are stopping every ten seconds.”

  Picking up my pace, I continued behind him, and it was with a heavy heart that my feet accepted the feel of solid ground. I certainly preferred the wooden planks below my feet and could have stayed out on the docks until the sun went down.

  The chanting and creaking of the ships and their sailors faded in the distance as we weaved through the bustling crowd on the harbor walk. Once my father opened the door to his office for me, all that remained of the wonderful moments on the docks was the melody of the sea shanty still ringing in my mind.

  “Hello, Mister Gordon,” my father greeted his partner.

  Hardly looking up from his work behind the counter, Mister Gordon greeted us, “Hello there, Mister Wilshire and Lady Remington.”

  Mister Gordon did all the bookkeeping, while my father worked with the customers, and Mister James—who had entered behind us—was the man who walked the docks for them, talking directly with the sea captains who worked for WG Shipping. The three of them made a great team, and being how they were best friends outside of work, I had also become good friends with their children.

  With an agitated look on his face, Mister James relayed the news he’d gathered out on the docks. “Kirkland is heading out at noon, and Henry arrived just before you did, but Bentley won’t budge.”

  “Damn it. I wonder why he is so resistant to work for us.” Father tightened his fists. “We have offered him twice the pay for lighter loads. Perhaps I shall go out there on that Talon and talk to him myself.”

  Mister James shook his head. “Whatever his reasons are, I suggest you move on because he isn’t coming over. In fact, he said if I kept bothering him, he was going to cut my hand off and shove it down my throat to clog up my bantering old pipes.”

  I was sure the disgusted wince on my face mirrored that of Mister Gordon’s and my father’s, but Mister James continued, hardly affected by the vile threat. “The only thing I enjoyed about the entire encounter was watching Mister Bentley backhand his foul-mouthed boy for laughing at that heinous threat he spewed at me.”

  “So, his boy does sail with him?” my father asked with his arms crossed over his chest.

  “He does. His name is Sterling and he is just as lewd as the lot of those sailors out there. Now, if you don’t mind, I have other reports to make. Ones that will result in profit.”

  While they carried on about the other reports that were nowhere near as interesting, I wandered into my father’s office and peered out the window. Of the many ships coming and going from the docks, I once again sought out Captain Bentley’s Talon. The crewmen were loading what seemed to be the last of the expensive furniture they would be transporting, and though they were all too far away for me to see anyone’s face clearly, I quickly spotted the young man I had seen earlier.

  Helping the men pull a load, tack and barrel to the deck, he did every bit of work the other men did. In fact, he seemed to be working harder than them. I even watched him wave his hands around in a manner that made it look like he was giving orders.

  Shortly after their load was complete, a man—who from afar, looked to be the young man’s father—stood beside him. His hair color was the same as the young man’s, also long and braided, and his skin was the same golden tan color, but the older man had a dark tattoo covering his massive shoulder. When he turned I saw that the ink also coated the back of his shoulder blade. I wanted to see what it was, but they were just too far away. Still, I knew who they were. This was Captain Bentley and his foul-mouthed son, Sterling.

  Though Captain Bentley was much bigger than Sterling, Sterling stood just as proud. The way they talked and laughed with each other assured me that the slap to the mouth didn’t bother either of them much.

  I watched these men until they unfurled the sails. Sterling climbed the yards alongside the older sailors, and his father waved his hands while shouting commands. I’d become so lost in the scene that it felt as if I was out there under those beautiful full sails as Talon made its graceful sail out of the harbor.

  Hearing the door to the office open, I jumped like I’d been caught doing something wrong. Seeing my father enter, I let the curtain drop and turned to face him. “Hello, there.” I stuttered and twiddled my fingers.

  “What did you see out there, my girl?” He casually peeked outside, making me feel comfortable again.

  “Oh, uh, I heard you talking about Captain Bentley and his son and their Talon, so I watched them sail away.”

  “Your fancy for the sea and those sailors is going to be the death of me one day, young girl.” He sat down and opened a book. “It is quite the shame that he did not take up my offer. You see, he has always captained his own ship and prefers to stay in the Caribbean, so the fact that he brought Mister Parkston’s Talon here against the harsh weather assures me that he was down on his luck. From what I gather, Mister Parkston paid him well to do so, but whether the job was taken out of desperation or greed, Bentley was the onl
y one brave enough to face the horrid weather we have been having.” He looked out the window. “Though you would never guess the weather has been so bad after looking at that sunlit bay.”

  Uninterested in talking about the weather, I remembered the way Mason and Midnight fared the storms without fear. “Is that why you want to hire him so bad? Because he is brave?”

  “That is exactly why, my dear. I also hear that he treats his crew very well. Fair and just. Most of these men are rather rough with their crewmen. When I sailed the seas, I saw many sailors mistreated by their captains, and though I cannot control what happens when these ships leave my docks, I do my best to see that everyone is treated well and appreciated for their hard work while in port. I honestly think Bentley and I could make a fortune together, but…I wouldn’t want Mister James to have to eat his own hand for lunch.” Father laughed and began writing in his log book.

  I chuckled, too. “Do you think Mister Bentley was serious about that terrible threat?”

  “Ah, who knows? Bentley used to be a buccaneer so I wouldn’t put it past him.”

  “He was a buccaneer?” I gasped in excitement.

  Father looked at me like I had lost my mind. “Yes. He was. Feared and revered for terrible acts of cruelty, but once he had that boy he drags around, he changed his ways.”

  “Oh, so Sterling is not a buccaneer?” My mind had already wandered off in daydreams of that rugged young man taking down galleons with his father.

  “As far as I know, Mason Bentley and his boy have been working fair under the law.”

  “Mason?! His name is Mason?” I yelped, all too joyfully.

  While I made note to use my visual of Mason Bentley as the new image of the Mason who loved Midnight in Mother’s stories, Father squinted with concern. “Has your mother been telling you stories again?”

  “No. No she hasn’t. I just, well…” As much as I loved the secrets I shared with my mother, I hated hiding the truth from my father. “I just remember when she did. I enjoyed the adventures.” I lowered my head in shame.

  “Come here, my darling. He waved me over, and when I rounded his side of the desk, he sat me on his knee. “I know you love the harbor, and I see the way your pretty eyes light up when the sails fill with the wind. I’ve heard you singing the shantys you hear on the docks as we walk home, and I know you sneak out of bed at night to eye the lights shining on the bay.”

  “I had no idea you knew about those habits of mine.”

  “Of course I do, my sweet. I watch you like a little flower growing in the garden.” He kissed my forehead. “So listen here, my colorful blossom. Though I understand your interest, I want to be sure that you remember where you belong.”

  “Here with you.” I smiled, loving how it felt to be wrapped in his arms.

  “Yes. You belong here, safe with me until you are old enough to wed, and even then, I want you to live here in town so I can still see your pretty face and hear your joyful laughter.” He kissed my cheek.

  Though marriage was the last thing on my mind, I couldn’t deny the fact that I wanted to be near my father all of my days. Overwhelmed by emotion, I threw my arms around his neck and told him how much I loved him.

  “Yes, yes, I love you, too, my pretty little angel. Now, let’s get to work.”

  We spent most of the day working in the office, but with the day being unusually warm and sunny, Father decided to clock out early. After a late lunch, he took me for a walk along the docks. While we fed the ducks he carefully explained to me the difference between barques and brigs, sloops and schooners. He had sailed back and forth between Barbados and England so many times as a child, and had sailed to many different ports as a young man, so he was very knowledgeable on the subject, which helped greatly in the success of his trade.

  Tossing the last bit of bread to the ducks, I looked up to my father and smiled. He was so tall and handsome, and he always dressed so nice. I knew we weren’t rich, but he took good care of us, and I was always so proud of him for what he did. I hoped to one day be as proud and successful as he was.

  “Father?” I asked, while watching the ducks chomp up the crumbs. “Will you let me work for you when I grow up?”

  He laughed. “Don’t be silly, my love. Fine young ladies don’t go to work. It will be your place as a woman to be a lovely wife and a wonderful mother.”

  Not liking his answer, I pouted. “Then why do you bring me to work with you so often?”

  Looking stumped, he stroked his well-trimmed goatee and hummed, “Well, for one, it is because your mother isn’t feeling well and she needs time to rest, but if that were the only reason I would simply leave you with the maid like most fathers do.” He knelt down beside me and looked into my eyes. “Perhaps it is also because I like the way you challenge me. Like this. You ask me questions that cause me to look deeper into myself. Your fascinating little spirit brings out the best in me, and the way I love teaching you to read and write leads me to believe that I enjoy bringing out the best in you.”

  I hugged him tight.

  With no rush in the world, we wandered the docks all afternoon and slowly made our way to the market, stopping to talk with a few of Father’s friends along the way. He was kind and friendly to everyone he spoke with, and his friends were always nice to me, as well. These times I spent with him were my favorite part of my life. Like the sunlight shining through the sails, he lit my world with joy, and I never wanted the sun to set on the days that we spent together.

  Chapter 3

  Moonlight on the Bay

  Coming upon our flat well before sunset, Father stayed out front to talk to a friend of his. As for me, being chilled by the evening breeze, I ran up the stone stairs and opened the door. The warm air filling the house gusted out at me—instantly warming my body—but the scent of catnip drifting in the air sent a cold chill down my spine. Mother burned that herb when she was having a hard time, and though I was always unnerved by these strange rituals of hers, I was also quite intrigued by them.

  If Father was the sunlight of my life, bright and warm and easy to see, my mother was like the moonlight shining on the bay, beautiful and luminescent, but in an uncertain and mysterious way.

  Dinah, the maid, was downstairs getting dinner ready, so without bothering her I headed upstairs to see what my mother was up to. The herbal smell grew stronger with each step I took, and as I reached the balcony overlooking the stairwell, I also sniffed a sweet-scented candle. Mother’s study was the room between my room and hers, and as I often did, I hid myself behind the basket in the hall and watched her through the narrow opening of her door.

  Wearing a deep blue silk nightgown, with those dashing braids in her hair, she paced the floor for a moment, mumbling to herself. Soon enough she let Sky, her beloved blue parrot, out of his cage. She bought Sky the day after her cat Feather died, without consulting Father. He wasn’t happy about her purchase but his terms of agreement were that she could keep him as long as he stayed in his cage. But she let him out regularly, which angered him greatly.

  With the bird free to perch himself elsewhere, Mother continued her pacing. Twiddling her long braids she mumbled, “Oh, it’s no use, Sky. I told myself to stop with this nonsense, but I can’t. I will never forget it, and this is the only thing that helps me feel better.”

  Then she sat at her desk and began writing. All of my life I had watched her do this. Write and write and write. Sometimes crying as she did so. But then, when she was done, she would rip up the parchment. This time was no different. It didn’t take her long, and she only mumbled a few things to Sky about love and regret without crying this time, but as soon as she was done, she ripped it up. One by one she burned the pieces in the flame of the fragrant candle.

  “What is that awful smell?” Father called out as he entered the house.

  Not wanting to be caught intruding on my mother’s quiet time, I leapt into my room before they caught me, but continued to listen in as Father came up the stairs.
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  “What are you doing, Hannah?” He barked at her like she was a child in trouble.

  “Nothing,” she said, casually, unaffected by his tone.

  “It smells like burnt parchment, and why is that damned bird flying free?”

  “I did not burn the house down, so do not scold me like an imbecile, and the bird is not flying, he is perched peacefully on my shoulder. Right where he landed after you scared him by yelling in such a way.”

  “You know the deal we made. If you keep letting him out, I will have to sell him.”

  “What about me, Thomas? If I walk outside this cage you keep me in, are you going to sell me, too?”

  I heard him take a deep breath. “I do not keep you in a cage, Hannah. It is by your own choosing that you hide in this little room, behaving like a lunatic, and resisting any chance of friendship.”

  Without responding to him, she started whistling a tune. I heard her open the bird cage, and once the little door was closed, she headed out to her veranda, shutting the door behind her. After letting out a long exhausted exhale, Father headed down the stairs.

  I hated it when they fought this way, and they had been doing it more often lately. I loved them both so dearly; I didn’t understand why they couldn’t love each other, as well.

  Mother did not join us for dinner that evening. Rather, she went out to wander the garden alone. Normally, she and I would do that together. Was she mad at me too? Maybe she knew I’d been watching her. While I worried about her distancing herself from me, as well, I heard Father say, “Thank you very much, Dinah. You make the best biscuits I have ever eaten.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Dinah smiled, her freckled cheeks flushing red like the curly red locks falling out of her bonnet. “My grandmother taught me how to make them. She was the best cook I knew.”